


The Revolution Will Not Have a Frequency

by muldersfoxhole



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e28 The City on the Edge of Forever, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Time Travel, What-if Scenario, revolutionary war AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5078092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muldersfoxhole/pseuds/muldersfoxhole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was one thing to separated by distance...As even vast spans could be bridged. But what if time was the culprit? Was it even possible on a theoretical level to bridge that gap? </p><p>A story of coming to age...in a different age. One Vulcan. One human. </p><p>What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spones needs more love and attention from AUs  
> and I feel like being that patron saint right now. 
> 
> So grab your tissue box(es) and enjoy!
> 
> -MFH

Rain. I remember it to bring forth such an unusual feeling against my skin--No, a sensation. There were no emotions involved in being drenched by precipitation. No logical emotions, at least.

The primitive structures appeared more desolate than they actually were. I blamed my rather obstructed view from behind the trees--American Elms, I knew for certain that’s what they were.

However, that was all I was certain of. All that I was consenting to be certain of.

The rather obtrusive shade of red that adorned and frankly marred the reputation of its armed wearers marched down the distant street in unison. I always considered the human need for recognizability and symbolism fascinating.

It did not take me long to realize where the Guardian of Forever’s ability had landed me. However, it took me a long time to believe it.

“The eventual present day Northeastern United States,” my words seemed to retreat back down my throat as I swallowed, “is currently the Revolutionary War Era, circa 1776.” I could not help clinging to the nearby deciduous that was almost destined to live through these hardships.

For the longest of time, I believed that emotions were what filled and overflowed in humans. And as a child of a human mother and a Vulcan father, I expected to deal with those trials and tribulations accordingly.

But was it an emotion to feel so empty?

 

“ _Jim_ ,” I was groveling as his name overcame me through turbulent bilabial splutters, “Jim….J- _Jim_ ….Jim, I’m sorry. _So sorry_.” The damp grass I yanked up and let fall between my fingers reminded me of him slipping away past mine.

He was gone. And for all intents and purposes, so was I. The Guardian's technology and infrastructure was perfect to and beyond both of our understandings. But who were we to call anything above present understanding perfect?

I felt my hands covering my ears. Whether it was to mute the sound of this present volatile reality or to keep my rational--at the time radical--thoughts inside my head where they belonged; I’ll never fully know.

My digits wrapped around the tips of my ears along with the depth of this situation wrapping around me. I already thought it was hard enough explaining myself back on the Enterprise.

The Enterprise. A vessel would not be named that for a very long time. Not even a sea vessel. My brain urged me to calculate the exact date and time, but my heart told me not to care.

Apathy was my only remaining buffer to this unbelievable life. To this life only my maternal ancestors lived. To this life I did not choose. I felt my heart had finally spoke to me and told me to do the opposite of its goal.

And for once, I listened.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_“I think I’m in love with Edith Keeler, Spock.” The captain spoke so frantically, as if he couldn’t believe it himself, “I have to know, Spock! I have to know if she lives or...or dies..” As if he knew his blue eyes enhanced as they grew overtly damp, he leaned himself on the doorframe facing away from me._

_I gripped the small hat that hid my heritage better than any words I could have conjured._

_I’ve felt anger before. I’ve even acted on anger before. Each time more illogical than the last._

_This was not anger, however. Not quite. It was gilded in sadness, or it was gilded over sadness. Both were thin layers over an insolent emptiness. Much like those chocolate Easter bunnies he had explained to me one time. How indolent to mold candy into shapes for merely aesthetic qualities alone._

_“Jim,” I heard myself say, “Edith Keeler must die.”_

_The way he looked at me, I’ll never forget. No matter how much I want to._

_He nodded. He nodded through the same emptiness I felt. Obviously not handling it as well as I possibly could. He still kept his composure for the sake of the Enterprise. The Enterprise that was currently in jeopardy. The Enterprise that would stay a only mere memory unless we fixed Dr. McCoy’s mistake._

_That feeling. The feeling we both felt but did not share. It was hopelessness._

 

* * *

 

The crack of thunder resonated deeply in my advanced hearing. I pulled the hat out of my back pocket.

“I can’t wear this anymore,” it was shaking in my grasp, “It will…” I let it fall behind me as I absently strode forward, “It will...It’s not a material of this century.” I stumbled against another trunk and clung to it as if intoxicated. “Not even a material of this century.”

A laugh escaped me. It oozed with intolerance and disbelief. I don’t know if it persisted at the fact I was actually laughing, or I was in the on-stages of insanity.

I gave a look towards my flushed skin. My hand was a healthy, vibrant shade of green. Healthy for a Vulcan. A species that won’t make first contact in...Dammit I didn’t want to calculate anymore.

I convinced myself during my first few weeks in the Academy that quantification was my way of showing I cared. The logic was simple: if I took the time to give a complicated figure a number, then it must mean I deemed it important.

They didn’t see it that way. No one did. Apparently making the intangible tangible was against the human ethic.

I should really keep my cynicism against anthropomorphic beliefs to a minimum if I plan on accommodating myself here.

“Well hello there, Mister. Are you quite alright?” A southern drawl caused my eyes to meet a man I felt I met before.

I immediately played severely intoxicated. Not like it was difficult or anything, “ _Yeah_ ,” I resonated more boisterous than I planned on being, “Yeah, I’m _good._ ” I propped myself up against the tree with a hint of manufactured swagger.

The man gave me a considering glance. A suspicious glance, really. I’d be more concerned if he didn’t, to be completely candid.

“Is this green-blooded hobgoblin act to scare off the Redcoats or sumtin’? I’d reckon you’d be successful, to say so myself.”

Redcoats. What a creative form of shortened language. I believe this would be a good time to act this century.

“ _Psh,_ like I’d give those Lobsterbacks the entertainment!" I gesticulated an exaggerated brush-off for effect. To be drunk was to be obnoxious and I thank Jim for unknowingly being my teacher. I leaned in to proverbially apply accelerant and to comprehend whom I was dealing with. “Haven’t you seen a drunkard before?” 

“Not one with those kind of ears, that color of skin, or that kind of haircut; I’m afraid. Didja drink a witch’s potion or somethin’?” The man chuckled with such familiarity in tone and posture. “I’d reckon her business be ran out of town by now.”

Then it hit me. He reminded me of Doctor McCoy. This man’s accent and vernacular was much thicker, however. Thick enough to question my actual location. I had to ask, for my sanity more than anything.

“Do you have the surname of McCoy by any chance?” My eloquence would no doubt debunk my intoxication. It was as if I knew I could trust him. This man of similar features to Leonard McCoy.

“ _McCoy?”_ His brow arched in consideration, “I got a girl with that last name. Cute as a bug’s ear, she is. Honestly if I had my druthers we’d be married back down yonder," he absently motioned presumably towards the South. "I was plannin’ to break that silly surname tradition and become a McCoy. Johnson’s too uppity and Loyalist for a Trainband fella like me.” He caught himself mid-tangent, “So to answer your question: no. My surname’s Johnson.”

I nodded in comprehension. However my curiosity pressed me to ask, “What is your initial form of endearment?” I quickly clarified, “What is your first name?”

He beamed at the enigmatic inquiry being put into words he could understand. “Aw, that’s a easy one: Leonard. Most call me Lenny, but I like to leave that up’ta them.”

“Leonard,” I heard myself repeat aloud, “Leonard Johnson.” I shook my head. The chances of this being remotely related were…

I slammed my head against the tree trunk. I didn’t want to think about the numbers anymore.

Fortunately I used enough force to forget about it entirely.

Unfortunately it was also enough force to knock myself unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters will grow in length soon, don't worry.  
> Unless you don't want them to, cause I mean  
> I'm down for that too.
> 
> Thanks for so much kudos this early on, by the  
> way!! I promise to make it all worth your while.
> 
> 'Till next entry, stay thirsty my friends. 
> 
> -MFH


End file.
